Stone
by CreedsGalBirdy
Summary: Sabretooth -- Just because you have a healing factor, doesn't mean you can't hurt. Emma Series A/U
1. Part I

Stone  
by 1Grrl4Vic  
  
  
Disclaimer: I own Emma and that's all. Everyone else belongs to Marvel and I don't make any money from this.   
  
  
Summary: Just because you have a healing factor doesn't mean you can't hurt.  
  
  
Author's notes: Thanks go to Vicchic and SLWatson for the beta jobs. Much props to you gals. This is kinda AU to my Emma Series, which will probably never be finished, btw. When I started writing this, I was hankerin' for some Vic angst and this is what I came up with. Feedback is welcomed but flames are passed along to St. John.  
  
  
  
  
*****  
  
  
  
I'm glad it's raining. If it were sunny, I'd probably be pissed. It always rains in Seattle and I want it to be raining today, just like it does every other day. It's a bit unusual for it to be sunny in Seattle and if it were sunny I'd remember today even more. Just because of the sun. And I don't want to remember today.  
  
  
  
I let Drake take Emma from me a little while ago. He might not be my first choice for savin' the world or anything, but he keeps a smile on her face and she needs that right now. She barely tips the scales at forty pounds but she was so heavy in my arms today, I had to put her down. Now my arms are just hanging by my sides and they still feel weighted down. Or maybe.. it's more like they're being pulled down. Or, I dunno, there's something pushing down on my shoulders with a constant, steady pressure.. just trying to see how long I'll last under it -- how long before I'm crushed under it.  
  
  
  
I stare at the flowers on her coffin. Birdy's coffin. Jesus. The flowers.. they're white and yellow. She'd think they're pretty. She always liked flowers. I can't remember but I think yellow was her favorite color. It's nice that they got her yellow flowers. They stand out so sharply to the rest of the world around them. The sky is gray and cloudy, the ground is thick with mud and everyone's wearing the same color. Black. And those flowers are mocking me with their brightness and their color. Even if I look away from them, my eyes seem to trace back to where they sit on her coffin. They're alive and she's not. I hate those flowers.  
  
  
  
There's a steady dripping sound of water hitting the tarp-pavillion I'm standing under. There's a big oak tree next to it and it's blocking some of the rain which is really just drizzling now. But still there's that drip, drip, drip. Big, fat drops of water hitting the plastic covering. It's louder than the voices I hear. But maybe that's because I'm not listening to them. I don't want to hear what they're saying. Some of them are probably just voices full of pity anyway. Not for me, though. Nope. Never for me. They're for Emma. A little girl's mother is dead and the only family she's got now is her murdering psycho father. Yeah. That's probably what they're saying.   
  
  
There's something else I hear. Rather, what I don't hear. The past few days my ears have been playing games with me.. making me think I hear it. Making me think I hear Birdy's heartbeat. It probably sounded like everyone else's. I wouldn't know because I never bothered trying to listen for anyone else's. 'Cept maybe Emma's.  
  
  
So now I've got the rain and the whispers combined with this hollow, empty sound in my ears. I turn my hearing up a little, strain to filter out all the extra noises, listening for that sound that only Birdy's heart made. But I can't hear it. All I can hear is this giant, white nothing. And then I have to turn my hearing back down because my ears are starting to hurt.  
  
  
I close my eyes so I don't have to look at those happy, taunting flowers. The rain still drips and the voices still murmur quietly.  
  
  
I was kind of surprised Logan showed up. He's somewhere to my right, propped up against a tree and, no doubt, not wanting to take his eyes off me for a second. The wind carries his scent and the stink of that cheap cigar he's smoking. If I had the energy I'd walk over there and shove that cigar right down his throat. I think I can feel the smoke filling my lungs when I breathe. It travels up my nostrils, then down into my lungs where it just sits like a big lump of black. And those ugly flowers laugh at me because I'm black on the inside and I'll never be bright and yellow and happy and yellow was Birdy's favorite color and she loved yellow. But I'm all black on the inside now and that black is seeping into my lungs and it fills my veins and it coats my bones until everything inside is black and heavy. And I don't think I can breathe anymore so I loosen my tie and breathe in that gray air that surrounds those fucking flowers and my throat feels tight so I undo the top buttons of my shirt and loosen my tie just a little bit more. But that gray air is just adding to the black that's already in my lungs, making me darker on the inside and it starts to hurt and it's getting hard to breathe so I pull in large gulps of air but that gray air is what's making me hurt and I choke and gasp and I realize the only way I'll breathe is by getting all that black out so I'm scratching at my throat and my chest, raking my claws across skin and muscle and bone and my hands are red. If I can just get to that black, I can tear it out and then I can breathe and I'll be okay. But my skin is knitting itself back together too fast. So I've gotta tear harder and faster. But I still can't see any black. It's all just red. And there's blood all over my hands and my shirt's not white anymore. It's soaked with blood and it's dripping down onto the ground like big, fat raindrops... drip, drip, drip. And those voices are getting louder and I think someone's crying but I can't really tell because the sound that Birdy's heart isn't making is so loud and I cant stand up anymore so I'm getting down on my knees and I dig my claws into my chest until my fingers can find a bone to wrap around and I start to pull because I'm almost to my black lungs and suddenly things are swirling and I'm moving and my head hits the ground hard and there's a knee in my back and I can see someone's blue hand trying to pull my hand out from under me. And Logan's boots are next to my head and I can hear him cussing at me as he tries to get me pinned down and that crying is louder and people are yelling and I hear that crying voice yell "Daddy!" and that sound that isn't sound comes back and I just stop.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Part II

  
  
  
McCoy's weight keeps me pinned to the ground but when he eases up my instincts take over and I force myself up, knocking him back. I'm on my feet and I stumble around to the other side of the coffin, putting it between myself and the rest of them. I hear Logan's metal claws unsheathe. I snap my head in his direction, staring at him, waiting for him to make the first move.  
  
  
Not taking my eyes off of him, I point in the direction Emma's wails are coming from, "Just get her outta here. I don't want her here now." Movement from McCoy catches my eye for a second as he tells one of the others to take Emma somewhere else. Somewhere safe...away from me.  
  
  
I'm not going to hurt her. I just don't want her to see me like this. She thinks I'm some invincible giant, that nothing can hurt me. But I can be hurt and I can't remember a time when the pain made me sick to my stomach like it does now. I can't remember a time when it made me ready and willing to tear my own heart out just so I wouldn't feel the pain anymore. Is this what this is? A broken heart? I'd laugh if it didn't sound so pitiful.  
  
  
I kneel down next to Birdy's coffin, crossing my arms, pillowing my head. Jesus, this isn't fair. Birdy's dead and I'm losing it. I honestly wouldn't care except now there's Emma and as heartless as people think I am, she's my little girl and my instincts are telling me to take care of her, protect her, to not let anyone hurt her. But I don't think I can. I'm falling apart.  
  
  
"Get up, Creed. Yer little drama show's over. You ain't turnin' this inta some kinda game," Logan hisses at me. God, shut him up. He's nothing but an ignorant little prick. Of all people, can't he see this is fucking killing me? No, of course he can't. Because he never needed someone to help him. The golden boy himself never needed someone to help him hold onto whatever humanity he had left...never needed that soothing calm for his raging monster. He never needed someone because he could do it for himself. So I guess that makes me less of a man. Because without the one person who knew my fucking *soul*...I'm nothing.  
  
  
I look at Logan's grimacing face one last time before closing my eyes. When I open them again, I'm looking at my hands. Dark and wet with my own blood, smearing across the glossy casket top. My hand brushes against some of the yellow roses of the arrangement, staining them bloody. I snort bitterly at the ironic scene in front of me. Birdy's joyful yellow tainted forever by my vicious red. The irony is lost quickly and I grab the flowers violently, tearing them, shredding them.  
  
  
Their scent hits my nose quickly, assaulting me, almost causing me to turn my face from them. My quiet, rumbling growl turns into a massive roar. The bundle of flowers is torn apart in seconds sending pieces of flowers floating soundlessly to the ground. As the final petals fall, I stand tensed, ready to strike, my breaths coming hard.  
  
  
For the first time in a long time, I'm lost. I don't know what to do with myself, I don't know who to strike out at, who to hurt. Is this Fate's way of getting back at me for everything I've ever done? That must be it. This is Fate trying to tell me,_ Victor, you've caused enough pain. Now it's your turn to feel it._ I think it is. I don't think I like it very much.  
  
  
The rain is coming down harder now and umbrellas pop open, sheltering the few remaining mourners. My vision blurs as I relax and stare vacantly at the streaks of blood on Birdy's casket. Clear raindrops splatter the red to make a depressing watercolor that trickles over the edge and falls to the ground. I reach up with my bloody hand and brush my hair from my face. I place both hands on the casket's top, leaning on it. Even in death, she's helping me stay upright...helping to keep me standing. Did she know how much that meant to me? I never told her. But she knew, right? She could read my thoughts. She must have seen, must have felt... I hope she did. Because I never told her.  
  
  
As the rain begins to pour down heavily, people hurriedly make their way back to cars, their feet splashing in quickly growing puddles. Only one other still stands in the rain, his newly lit cigar glows orange in the darkening afternoon sky. He looks at me, tilts his head slightly in question. I look away, towards the ground at my feet. A single, yellow rosebud lies in the bloodied mud next to my shoe. I bend down and pick it up. Using the sleeve of my jacket, I clean off whatever blood the rain hasn't yet washed away from the casket top. Gently, I place the rosebud on the coffin. I let my hand stay for a moment. I don't think I'm ready. I look up at Logan, saying nothing. He gives a nod and turns, walking down the hill to one of the waiting cars. I look back at the rose, vibrant yellow against the silver casket. I close my eyes, wishing more than anything that she could hear me now...hear me when I tell her, "Thank you."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
_I need so  
To stay in your arms  
See you smile  
Hold you close  
  
And now it weighs on me  
As heavy as stone  
And of bonechilling cold_  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
